


Becomes My Bride

by treefrogie84



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Human Impala (Supernatural), POV Outsider, Post-Episode: s13e09 The Bad Place, Wayward Daughters, Wayward Sisters, spoilers for what we know about 13.12 Various and Sundry Villains and 13.13 Devil's Bargain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 22:06:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13350477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: Three things happen when Jack and Kaia’s powers combine to rip open a rift between worlds:1) The angels outside are reduced to atoms and dust2) a golden shimmering rift opens, flickering between alternative universes3) a woman in her thirties is flung onto the riverbank near the walls of a convent, covered only with a rough army blanket.





	Becomes My Bride

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the usual suspects, [Dorkily](http://dorkilysoulless.tumblr.com) and [Thayer](http://thayerkerbasy.tumblr.com) for reading over this and making sure I'm not talking out my ass. Also thanks to Mediocre Meta and Weekend Writing Marathon for letting me horrify them with photos. 
> 
> There _is_ a convent in Yankton, SD. It’s not St. Clare’s, nor is it where I have St. Clare’s located. I’m not Catholic, and all my knowledge about convents comes from either A) 500 years ago or B) pop culture and wikipedia. I'm sure I have how all this works completely wrong, my apologies.

Three things happen when Jack and Kaia’s powers combine to rip open a rift between worlds:

  1. The angels outside are reduced to atoms and dust
  2. a golden shimmering rift opens, flickering between alternative universes
  3. a woman in her thirties is flung onto the riverbank near the walls of a convent, covered only with a rough army blanket.



* * *

 

After the sudden storm last night, they are all distracted during prayer, itching to start the clean up process, clearing away the fallen tree limbs and checking that the garden and bees are still intact. Their walls are sturdy, but even still, they could feel the force of the storm inside.

Theodora knows it wasn’t a natural storm. Not with angels screaming in pain before suddenly going silent several hours before dawn.

She’s among the first outside after dawn prayers, looking west along the river, walking the boundaries of their land. Mary Ellen walks with her, watching her with shrewd eyes. One of the older sisters, Mary Ellen long ago guessed why Theodora fled to the sanctity of this life, even if they rarely discuss it. She is the one who nursed Theodora back to health and sanity when—

“Not a normal storm then?” She asks, leaning on her cane. “Not if you’re this shaken.”

Theodora shakes her head, “Six this time.” She sighs, looks at her companion. “I don’t know how many are left. Not many. Where the choirs once swelled with melody… It’s thin. Few where there should be hundreds, thousands.”

Mary Ellen nods, fingers her cane, before continuing along the path. Well into her seventies, she reminds Theodora of a caged tiger, fierce in her calling as she paces the walls, offering prayer and comfort to all who need it.

They find the woman further down the path, huddled against the fence, wrapped in a worn army blanket. What little sticks outside the blanket — her feet, an arm, a knee — is bare to the elements. Mary Ellen slowly sinks to her knees, reaching through the fence to touch the young woman, make sure she’s alive.

Theodora hurries back down the path to the nearest gate, calling for someone to fetch Sister Juliana and her first aid kit.

The young woman is groaning when Theodora reaches her, has grabbed hold of Mary Ellen’s hand and pulled it close. She’s mumbling something in Latin, but it’s nothing Theodora recognizes.

Mary Ellen doesn’t look worried at least, holding hands with a strange, naked, young woman. There’s something in her eyes, like maybe the reason she’s not in distress is because she’s seen this sort of thing before.

“She’s pleading for someone to come back, to not abandon her,” Mary Ellen says quietly.

Theodora winces, glances towards the river. “Do you think—”

“The reason she’s here doesn’t matter. If it’s something for the police, we’ll call them once we have her warm.”

Theodora nods, crouching to lift the woman up, trying to preserve her modesty with the blanket. It slips anyway, exposing a years old scar below her collarbone. It looks like someone carved their initials into her chest. Theodora hisses when she sees it, pulls the blanket back into place, and carefully lifts the woman to her feet.

She’s not strong enough to carry her, but she manages to support most of the woman’s weight while they take tiny staggering steps towards the gate. Mary Ellen hurries along beside them, keeps the gate open so they don’t have to deal with that as well.

Juliana pauses momentarily to check with Mary Ellen before bustling over to them and wrapping an arm around the woman’s blanket covered waist, helping support her weight. “What’s this then?”

Theodora straightens slightly at the reprieve, “She was lying against the fence. She hasn’t said anything in English, but she’s moving alright.”

“Any sign she was washed up by the river?”

“Not that I can see.” Theodora uses her free hand to pull the blanket tight again. “We need to get her inside. Maybe call the police?”

Juliana glances over at her before leading them to one of the benches near by. Mary Ellen has already claimed one end of it, but they carefully sit the woman down. She’s still mumbling in Latin, the same couple of phrases over and over.

Juliana ignores it, carefully checking her limbs for breaks or sprains while Theodora supports her on the cold bench. Almost all of the wounds are old — a couple of fresh scrapes and bruises — but far more scars than anyone her age should have.

“Miss, can you understand me?” Theodora asks, tentatively, when the woman moans at Juliana’s touch.

Mary Ellen shakes her head at her end of the bench. “She’s not understanding anything right now.”

Juliana nods. “She’s cold and in shock. We need to take care of that first, then everything else.”

They make a strange parade, Juliana leading while Theodora supports the woman and Mary Ellen brings up the rear at her best speed. One of the other sisters, weeding near the doors, holds it open for them.

Mary Ellen peels off while Theodora and Juliana support the woman and keep moving.

Juliana goes directly to the infirmary, nodding Theodora towards the empty bed. “Can you manage her by yourself?”

Huffing, Theodora nods, lifting the woman up. She’s _heavy_ , far more so than Theodora thinks she should be, but moves easily enough when guided.

The blanket slips off when she lifts the woman onto the bed, puddling to the floor. The scars on her limbs aren’t even the worst of them. The woman is _covered_ in them, from tiny flecks of things that will fade with time to massive things cutting across wide swathes of her body.

Theodora gasps when she sees them, scrambling to grab the sheet from the foot of the bed to drape over her body while averting her eyes. No one should be exposed like that, not to strangers.

Juliana moves to the other side of the bed with her stethoscope, pausing as the woman shifts restlessly and rolls onto her side. Theodora sees her eyes widen a fraction of a second before Juliana’s hand stops, barely touching the woman’s lower back.

The woman on the bed shakes and grumbles, her voice gradually strengthening.

The woman’s mutterings change as soon as Theodora’s hand brushes her skin next to Juliana’s, transitioning from Latin to something else. Guttural and strident, it isn’t meant for conversational volumes and is somehow familiar.

As soon as the first syllables pass the woman’s lips, Juliana drops her stethoscope to the bed and tries to jerk her hand away from the woman’s back.

Confused, Theodora glances over, trying to see what’s going on. Juliana’s eyes are pitch black, her free hand trembling as she backs as far away as she can.

“Juliana? What happened to your eyes?”

“Fuck this gig,” Juliana spits out. “Nothing is worth dealing with angels.”

Aghast, Theodora tries to grab her arm, but Juliana flings her into the cabinets against the wall. The strange woman sits up, pulling Juliana halfway across the bed, her eyes flashing strangely before she starts intoning something in Latin.

_“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,...”_

It’s still guttural, harsh and unforgiving, but Theodora recognizes the cadence of this at least, a few of the words. Blinking, she drops her hand to her rosary, automatically beginning the prayers.

Juliana panics, struggling to get away from whatever has trapped her. A thick black plume of smoke erupts from her mouth, fountaining out and spilling to the floor, charring patterns into the wood as it passes through.

Mary Ellen and Father Keith burst through the door just in time to see the woman slump backwards onto the bed and Juliana to the floor. Theodora manages to finish her current prayer before looking up at them.

“I don’t…” She starts before trailing off.

Mary Ellen’s eyes harden as she looks at the scene, turning to Father Keith, “I told you there was something off about her _years_ ago. Who knows how many deals she’s made.” Pushing past him, she gently takes Theodora’s frozen hand and pulls her off the floor and to the desk chair that sits abandoned in the corner. “Theodora?” she asks, her voice as sharp as a slap.

Theodora shakes her head, feeling her hands start to tremble in Mary Ellen’s grasp. “The blanket slipped, fell. We were pulling a sheet over her. Juliana’s hand got stuck somehow, she couldn’t get away. She was angry, so angry— She said something… and then the smoke and…”

Keith looks over from where he’s kneeling by Juliana, “Who said something?”

“They both did. Juliana said she was quitting, the job wasn’t worth dealing with angels. The woman said something in Latin, the exorcism. First clear words all morning…” Slowly, she withdraws her hand from Mary Ellen’s grasp and moves to her rosary, spinning beads on their chain just to give her hands something to do. “What’s going on?” She whispers.

Mary Ellen sighs, glances at the Father before shaking her head, her face relaxing. “I always hated this part.”

Balancing herself on her cane, she pulls back the sheet until she can see the woman’s back, tracing the tattoo with gnarled fingers. “Well, come on, girl. If you want to know, you need to see.” She cocks her head, staring at Keith across from the bed. “You best get the Vatican or one of those fancy Orders on the phone. They’ll listen to you.”

Keith startles, the first time Theodora has ever seen him look less than collected. “She’ll need a name. And a baptism.”

“We’ll take care of that. You deal with the Vatican.” Looking down at Juliana’s body next to the bed, she sighs. “The police too, there’ll be questions.” Mary Ellen turns her back on Keith and pulls Theodora closer. She points at the tattoo on the woman’s back, an intricate star in a circle, symbols in the void spaces. “You hear angels. What does that tell you about this?”

Theodora looks at it for a few minutes, guiltily runs a finger along part of a line. The woman moans again at her touch. Theodora ignores it for a moment, unfocusing her eyes. “It’s… constrained, a trap. If something that shouldn’t touches it, they’ll be trapped.” Blinking, she looks at Mary Ellen. “Demons. _Demons are real?_ ”

Father Keith snorts across from them, “And everything else.”

They’re both watching her, waiting for her to do something, she’s not sure what. Part of her wants to have whatever reaction they’re expecting, but she doesn’t have the emotional reserves right now. And there’s still a young woman on the bed in front of her needing help.

“That’s too much. I’m… no.” She sucks in a breath and nods. Moving to the otherside of the bed, she pushes the woman’s heavy golden auburn hair out of her face. “Miss? Are you with us?”

Her eyes don’t open, but she nods.

“Okay, then.” Nodding in turn, Theodora turns her back on Mary Ellen and the Father, grabs a clean cloth from the drawer and starts washing the mud from her hands and feet, making sure the scrapes don’t have any dirt in them.

After a while, she finds herself just chattering, telling the woman about her day, her family. At some point, the others leave the room, off to do something else. She hears the bells for the mid-morning prayer, but doesn’t dare leave her patient.

 

* * *

 

“Sister Mary Ellen, may I see you in my office please?” Father Keith calls after her as she hobbles down the hall.

Leaning on her cane, for the first time in nearly twenty years, Mary Ellen curses the werewolf that wrecked her knee and shoulder, forcing her into retirement and seclusion. It’s what her family has done for generations, but now she’s bound by the decisions of some priest.

She forces a pleasant smile to her face, turning and agreeing.

Keith’s been stationed here for over five years, but his office is still filled with the knickknacks of his predecessor. Mark had been a good man, willing to accept a woman angry at being forced into early retirement and then spend ten years helping her through her grief and anger and into acceptance.

Keith— She’s not sure. She’s old now, hunting has passed her by, all her contacts fallen silent over the years. He might disregard her as useless, or worse, insane. He’s certainly discounted her warnings about Juliana over the last couple of years.

(She’s not sure how she missed that so completely. That something was off about her, yes, but nothing about a _demon_.)

Keith collapses into his chair, face bleak. “You’re a hunter?”

“Was.” She gestures to her knee with her free hand with a twist of a smile. “Werewolf. Over thirty years ago now.”

He shakes himself at the reminder of her infirmity, gesturing to one of the chairs. “Sit, please.” Reaching behind him, he flips on the coffee pot that sits in his windowsill. “I’m not. The Choir— They weren’t interested in those with no taste for blood.”

She nods. Not many of the hunting orders are. But it’s rare that they let anyone go. That he’s here and not in some dusty library speaks volumes about his unsuitability for it.

Shifting slightly, she watches him slop coffee into a pair of mugs before pulling a bottle of rum from his desk and adding a healthy amount to his. Shaking her head when he offers, she pulls her mug to her and wraps her hands around it. “The woman — whoever she is — she’s not an angel. Theodora would know it.”

“You’re a hunter and Theodora is psychic. Anyone else hiding things that will draw demons to us?” he spits out.

Mary Ellen raises an eyebrow at his harsh tone, sipping her coffee in silence.

Sighing, Keith hangs his head. “My apologies. But you can see my frustration.”

“See it? Yes. Condone it? No,” she says sharply. “There are things that are not talked about, even in confession. We all have them, all have things that are buried in the past, reasons for joining the church. The pasts of those here are just that: _the past_. Your frustration at not knowing the least of our histories is unacceptable.”

He shoots back his coffee with the expertise of a man who spent a lot of time in bars. There was a time when she could match him shot for shot and probably drink him under the table. Those days are gone now.

“That young woman, whoever she is, is in need of shelter more than care. It would have been a risk before, contacting the local sheriff and hoping that we could keep her away from her abusers. But now? I wouldn’t dare, not until we know more.” He grimaces, pours another shot of rum into his coffee mug and slinging it back. “You know everyone’s histories better than me. Can we keep everyone safe if another demon comes knocking?”

She thinks about it for a long moment before shaking her head, “It depends on how much they want her, why they want her. If they knew what Theodora could do, they might want her just as badly. Are you suggesting we turn her out as well?”

“Of course not! But I’m not going to allow a foundling to put us all at risk either.”

 

* * *

 

Jody’s not even managed to get changed before her work phone starts ringing with an unknown number flashing on the screen. Looking longingly at the glass of wine she’d just poured, she sighs and accepts the call, “Sheriff Mills speaking.”

There’s a brief pause before a quiet voice comes across the line. “Jody? It’s Jim Williams, over in Yankton.”

Shit. “Hi, Jim. What’s up?” She forces as much good will into her voice as she can, swallowing at least half the wine. Work calls this late are never good news.

“You still handling those wacko cases off the books?”

She’s silent for a moment. “What’s going on, Jim?” Jody sets her phone to speaker and sets it on the counter. Pulling out her personal phone, she shoots Claire a quick text before continuing. “You got something?”

Keys jangle on the other end of the line, along with the noises of a car starting. “Actually, can I call you on your personal line? This is… weird.”

“Sure.” She rattles off her number and hangs up before refilling her wine glass.

Two minutes later, her phone rings again. “Jody.”

Jim sighs on the other end of the phone. “Any of your wacky stuff ever look like something out of Star Trek?”

“Tribbles and slugs or save the whales?”

“Q.”

“What the—” Jody breaks off, remembering something Dean had mentioned offhand a few weeks back. “Glowing crack in reality, things you toss through don’t come back?”

“Not tried throwing things at it yet, but glowing for sure.” Jim audibly swallows. “Also got a bunch of wings burned into the side of the building and some silver looking things melted into the concrete.”

Jody’s mind whirls, but she forces herself to stop and think. “Keep folks away from the glowing thing. I need to make some phone calls, then I’ll be on my way. If a young woman — blonde, angry, far too young to _actually_ be with the FBI — shows up, tell her to call home, I’m on my way.”

“Sure thing, Jody. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so, but I’ll let you know. Call my personal if you find anything else weird.” Hanging up, she briefly closes her eyes before pouring her wine back into the bottle and sticking it in the fridge.

She sends Alex a text — she’s at the hospital, won’t have a chance to pick up her phone until late — to let her know that she’s leaving town for the night, leaves a voicemail for Claire, more details than the text, and asks her to meet her in Yankton.

Jody’s on the phone with Sam’s voicemail when there’s a knock at the door. “Patience?”

Over a thousand miles away from where she should be, Patience stands on the front porch, slightly breathless. “Jody, I… I had a vision. Something bad’s coming.”

Ushering her in, Jody pulls her into a hug. “So we face it.” She pulls Patience into the living room. “What’s going on?”

“Dean wouldn’t stop calling, all day. And then I had a… I don’t know. It wasn’t a vision, not like they normally are. But he’s in trouble, not that I can do anything about it. You though, you I can do something about.”

“Hey, slow down. I’ve got a case I need to go investigate.” Jody inhales, looks at just how young Patience is. “You’re too young to be hunting.”

“Jody, I—”

“But, if it was worth driving for twenty hours instead of calling, I’ll hear you out.”

“I didn’t know what else to _do_. They’ve always involved me, but this one…” Patience looks up, fear shining through.

“Hey, I’m gonna listen. But I need to get on the road. Do you have a bag in your car?” Jody waits for Patience’s nod. “Okay. Go grab it, toss it into my truck. If I don’t get a handle on the situation in Yankton, we’re going to have even more problems.”

“What’s happening there?” She’s calmer with someone taking charge. Most folks are.

“If it’s what I think it is? A hole in reality that may not be one way.”

Patience blinks a couple times, “Oh. That’s what I saw.” Shaking herself, she lets herself back outside, dangling keys in her hand.

Jody nods before heading back to her room. She doesn’t keep a whole lot of gear in the house — it makes Alex uncomfortable and, no matter what Dean says, weapons are not decorations — but some things are too rare to be kept in the car. The locked safe under her bed doesn’t hold much anymore — some important life documents, some cash and jewelry — but she does keep one weapon in there rather than her truck.

She retrieves the angel blade and shoves it into the straps on the inside of her jacket before heading back outside. Patience is standing awkwardly by the passenger side, shifting a little from foot to foot. Checking her phone for messages, Jody ushers her out to the truck, locking the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

The music is wrong. A single voice humming, yes, that’s normal, but this is gentle phases, full of lifts and falls that sound nothing like what she should be hearing. This is closer to what Sal would listen to, not John, certainly not Dean or Sam.

Careful hands run a damp cloth over her, cleaning away the dirt and mud, occasionally breaking off the humming to tsk over every scratch and ding. That’s normal enough after a long day.

But the music, it’s not right. She keeps circling back to that.

The hands move the cloth back to her face and that’s not right either. There’s a pattern, a way to do these things, and Dean _never_ would move a cloth from dirty back to clean. Which means this isn’t Dean. Or Sam.

She’s been keeping her visual awareness off, but something’s wrong and she needs to deal with the intruder. She feels pretty beat up, hopes she can get rid of them without having to resort to more drastic measures.

Cracking open her awareness, she funnels it down through her headlights, waiting for things to make sense.

They don’t.

She’s inside. Not garage inside, but Chuck dropping her inside the Bunker inside. Immediately, she tenses up, holds the doors tightly in, trying everything she can to make herself smaller. She’s too big for this, shouldn’t be here, this is how she gets scrapes and scratches.

It… works? She looks around as best she can. Either the room is far bigger than she thinks or she’s managed to make herself much smaller. Whatever magic that is, hopefully she can figure out how to reverse it once she’s out of here.

The humming stops, a woman stepping into view, frowning. “Miss, can you hear me?”

She tries to rev her engine a bit, affirmative. The sound that comes out is _not_ her engine. It sounds… human. _What the fuck?_ She looks across the room, sees a reflection in the glass cabinet. It doesn’t make sense-- there’s two women in the room, her companion and… lifting a door, she watches the other reflection lift an arm, drag it across her belly. There’s the soft tingle of car wash brushes on her undercarriage as she does it.

She’s human. How in the...

The woman smiles, “It’s alright. You’ve been unconscious for a while. It might take a few minutes to get your voice back.” She steps away, returning after a few seconds with a cup full of water. “Drink some of this, it’ll help.”

She crosses her headlights to watch the straw come towards her. It doesn’t stop where she thinks it should, but is lifted to her grill and…

Liquid — water — pours into her, pulling her back from whatever fugue state she’d been in. She sucks down half the glass before the woman pulls it away.

“Now try.”

“Where—” She coughs, waits for things to line back up. “Where am I?” She keeps back the other questions, she knows a civilian when she sees one.

“St. Clare’s, in Yankton. Do you…” The woman swallows, “What’s your name?”

“I don’t — Baby. Dean always called me Baby.” She cuts herself off from providing anything more. Not until she figures out what is going on. “Am I human?”

“My name’s Theodora.” The woman says gently and sits at the foot of her bed. “What do you remember?”

Closing her (eyes? Does she have eyes now, instead of headlights?), she tries to remember. “The angels were coming, Dean and Sam and Jack and Kaia left me, they needed shelter. I wasn’t enough. They can cut right through me, so I was left on the river bank. And then…” she falls silent. The angels shook the ground, then there was a flash and she doesn’t— There’s nothing beyond that.

She reaches for her boys’ initials, fingertips tracing them along her collarbone. At least she still has those, can prove who she is once she finds them again. If she finds them again. They’ve left her behind before, even though she knows Dean would never do it intentionally. “Dean. He’ll be looking for me.” She can’t keep the fear out of her voice, wavering in a completely unacceptable fashion.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Theodora rests a hand on her shin. “We’ll keep you safe.”

She stays silent. She doesn’t need _safe_ , she needs to find her family.

Theodora stands, straightens her clothes. “I need to let Sister Mary Ellen know, and the Father. Do you have a… different… name I can call you? It’s not right, calling you a pet name.”

She closes her eyes and thinks. Eileen is too fresh, Charlie too unique. “I liked Jo. She was… she could keep up with them.”

“Alright. Jo it is. I’ll be back with some clothes in a little while.” She lets herself out of the room, closing the door behind her.

She, Jo now, sits up, trying to see if there’s anything in the room she can use. She briefly thinks about praying to Castiel, but he only comes when Dean asks. Why would he if she did? He doesn’t even know her. And that’s assuming she can even figure out how prayer works.

She looks around the room, trying to figure out what exactly has happened. There’s a dead body on the floor next to her, reeking of sulfur, surrounded by burn marks. A demon? It smells like one anyway, and she almost remembers knowing the words of the exorcism, reciting them.

Oh, she’s still a hunter then. She can work with this.

Leaning back again, she closes her eyes, sets her engine to idle. Until she can find Sam and Dean, she might as well stay put.

 

* * *

 

Theodora leans against the wall outside the infirmary, pushes her braids over her shoulder before offering up a prayer. She knows, with deep certainty, that Jo isn’t human, or wasn’t always human, but she doesn’t carry any taint of being something else either. Now that she knows, the unsettling feeling she always got from Juliana makes sense. Jo feels nothing like that.

She prays, quickly and silently, that everything will become clear, before heading towards Father Keith’s office.

 

* * *

 

It’s an hour and a half to Yankton and Jody isn’t entirely certain what she’s doing. Patience is silent beside her, occasionally sipping the cup of hot chocolate she’d picked up at the gas station.

Jody concentrates on the road as her phone buzzes again — Jim updating her on the situation most likely — and Patience flinches.

“Does your dad know where you are?”

She can barely see Patience shake her head out of the corner of her eye. “He told me to uh, not come back, if I was going to follow this.”

Jody winces. “I’m sorry.” She glances over at Patience. “Let him know you’re okay anyway.”

“He thinks I should just ignore all this, ignore that maybe I can help people!”

“I didn’t say you had to go back. I said to let him know you’re okay.” She tightens her hands on the wheel before forcing them to relax. “If you want to do this, he can’t stop you. You’re eighteen. But you _will_ call home occasionally.”

“Jody…”

“Patience, trust me. He loves you, even if he can’t support you in this. Text him.”

Patience pulls out her phone, taps out a text message and sends it. “It won’t matter.”

“Didn’t say it would.” Sighing, Jody runs a hand through her hair. Where’s Donna when she needs her? “Hunting, it’s a hard life. You’ve seen what it’s done to Dean, you’ll meet my adopted daughter in a bit. Any love and support you can get, you grab hold of that.”

Her phone rings again, Claire’s picture flashing up on the screen. She punches the speaker button without thinking about it. “Hey, Claire. How you doing?”

“I’ve got an asshole sheriff who told me to call home instead of letting me see the scene,” Claire spits out.

“I’m thirty minutes away. Stop being an ass.”

“Jody—”

“Find us a place to stay. And I have someone else with me, so make sure there’s three beds. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Alright,” Claire says sulkily. “You know I can do this by myself though, right?”

“Sheriff Williams called my personal line, Claire. He won’t hand it over to you.”

“Not now he won’t!”

Jody rolls her eyes and presses the end button. Patience is watching her with wide eyes in the fading light. “Claire’s already there. Obviously.” She sighs, looking at the horizon. “Wanna talk about your vision now?”

“You died. Again. A spear or something. Giant skulls, and I mean teeth two feet long giant. Something creeping through the woods.” Shaking her head, Patience shivers and drinks her hot chocolate.

Reaching over, Jody squeezes her shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. Maybe the boys will have a clue.” She ignores the part of her freaking out that Sam and Dean aren’t answering their phones. They do this sometimes, she knows it, Claire knows it, hell, even Alex knows it. They’re busy, can’t always drop what they’re doing.

This though, she would have expected them to make an exception.

They finish the drive into Yankton in silence. It’s not a large town, only about fifteen thousand people, and it’s not hard to find the abandoned shipyard on the westside.

Claire’s there, already changed out of her FBI gear. Jody pulls her into a quick hug before stepping back. “You been keeping out of trouble?”

“Two ghosts, a ghoul, and a werewolf last month.” She must read something on Jody’s face, because she hurries to explain. “I had help with the werewolf, I wasn’t _alone_.”

Sighing, Jody brings her over to the truck to introduce her to Patience. “Claire the hunter, meet Patience the psychic. Play nice. I’m going to go see what I can find out from Jim.”

It looks like Jim has mostly cleared the area, sent the other officers home.

“Evening, Sheriff Mills.” Reaching up, he lifts his hat for a brief moment before dropping it back down and reaching to shake her hand. “Thanks for coming out.”

“Sure thing, Jim. Not a problem.” Standing back, she looks at the three abandoned cars — all local plates — and the wings burned into the side of the warehouse. “Wanna catch me up?”

Jim pauses before jerking his head towards where the girls are standing awkwardly by the truck. “Should we wait for the ‘FBI agent’?”

Jody huffs a laugh, “Don’t let her hear the doubt in your voice. She takes her cover stories very seriously.” Raising an arm, she waves Claire over. “You know the standards with these weird ones.”

“Don’t ask questions, don’t follow up, don’t try to bill the agency,” He snorts. “I’ve had my share, but the old guys I’m used to don’t come ‘round any more.”

The unexpected reminder of Bobby hurts, but she ignores it in favor of introducing Jim and Claire. Patience stands behind them, on the outskirts, clearly wanting to join but not knowing if she’s welcome. Jody ignores that too, there’s only so much she can worry about at any given time.

Jim leads them past the abandoned cars and towards the rickety bridge that crosses from the river bank into the partially disassembled boat. “Got a call mid-afternoon from one of the high school teachers on his way home. Saw a bunch of cars out here and after the storm last night wanted to be sure no one was trapped inside.”

“That happen a lot?” Claire asks, staring at something in the gravel.

“Lotta kids come out here to smoke and drink. It’s not normally a problem, but we had some flooding last night.” Jim meets Jody’s eyes, looking for… something. He wouldn’t be the only cop who doesn’t bust up the kids misbehaving so he can keep a better eye on it if it does become a problem.

She shrugs, and turns her back on the boat, looking at the warehouse to the side. There’s three sets of wing prints that she can see from here, probably more spread around. Walking backwards, she keeps an eye on the building, trying to get a feel for how the angels would have set themselves up, when she catches her heel on something, tripping and landing on her ass.

Patience darts towards her, bypassing Claire (sniggering) and Jim (has his sheriff-nothing-is-funny-ever face on), “Are you okay?”

“Somehow, I doubt this ever happens to Sam and Dean.” Jody holds up a hand and pushes herself to her feet before looking down at what she tripped over.

A gleaming silver angel blade sticks out of the concrete, a pool of melted silver surrounding it.

Claire abruptly stops laughing, staring at it. “Is that—”

“Yeah.” Reaching into her jacket, Jody pulls her angel blade out. “Jim, where’s the rift?”

“On the boat.” He gestures across the rickety bridge. “That glow? Isn’t sunset.”

Twisting around, Jody’s eyes widen as she takes in what she’s actually seeing. “Patience, stay here. Jim, you too. Claire, you’re with me.”

Claire at least waits until they’re out of earshot before bringing up the glaringly obvious, “This seem like it’s more Winchester speed than ours? I’m great at this, but…”

Looking at wards that have been burned into the metal, Jody pulls out her phone to snap a few photos. “Good plan. You heard from them?”

“What?” Claire clicks a flashlight on, shining it around the dark lower decks. “I know they were looking for Jack, but I haven’t…”

“Two days ago, Jack showed up a few hours north of here. No one’s heard from them since and they’re not answering their phones.”

They’re silent for a few minutes, checking the wards as they move up decks.

Claire’s quiet when she speaks next, “Cas hasn’t called in a week and a half.” She’s scared when she meets Jody’s eyes. “And there’s a car missing from out front. Four cars passed the gas station camera a quarter mile up the road, but the Impala’s not here.”

Jody sucks in a breath, “Shit. Okay.” Leading the way to the top deck, she looks around.

Whatever happened, it was here. Even if the giant rip in space-time wasn’t enough of a clue, all the furniture that wasn’t bolted down has been sent flying. The stuff that was bolted down looks like it started to melt.

Whatever happened here, it was huge.

 

* * *

 

“We can’t keep her here,” Keith says flatly. “Not if she’s not human, I won’t put us all at risk for someone who’s not devoted to her calling.”

Mary Ellen glances towards Theodora who’s staring into her coffee cup without saying anything. “We are founded on charity and protection. I am not throwing a young woman whose only crime is being not-human on to the streets.” Sighing, she looks down at her coffee cup. “We can perform the tests if you want, baptise her, douse her in holy water. Send her to stay at the guest house in town. But I’m not throwing her to the wolves. If you have any contacts that aren’t of the church, talk to them, see if they know of anything that’s happening.” Standing, she taps Theodora’s ankle with her cane. “C’mon, child. Let’s go minister to our creepy crawly.”

Keith sputters behind them as she herds Theodora out of his office, but she ignores him.

Theodora, bless her, recognizes that she’s spent most of the day on her feet and walks slower than she normally might. “What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to baptise her. She’s already warded against demons, so we don’t need to worry about that. Then I’m going to see if any of my old life are still alive.”

Theodora nods beside her, too quiet. She’s not loud, but she’s not normally silent either. Something is far more wrong than just a shifted world view.

“What if we’re wrong?” Theodora bursts out. “She was attacked by angels! What if—”

Desperately, Mary Ellen drags her over to a nearby pair of chairs. She’d been hoping that this wouldn’t be necessary, but— “Theodora. Stop.” She wraps both hands around her cane head, trying to keep from dropping it. “Angels are warriors of God. They are not all knowing.”

“How are we to know? If she’s good or not?”

Mary Ellen leans back in her chair and shrugs. “Demons were uncommon, up until about ten years ago. Now, the exorcists see thousands of cases every year. No one had consented for an angel to work through them in over a hundred years. Now…” She trails off, thinking about how close they came to losing Theodora to insanity.

“Now they’re taking vessels left and right and not always because they need human assistance,” Theodora says quietly.

Mary Ellen unwraps one hand from her cane and lays it across Theodora’s. For a moment, she pretends the fingers aren’t gnarled with arthritis and white with how tight she’s been holding on, allows the warmth from Theodora’s hands to penetrate hers. “Perspective doesn’t change facts. And we are servants, not masters.” She squeezes Theodora’s hand before releasing it. “Go fetch what we need for the baptism. I’ll meet you at the infirmary.”

Theodora nods, pushing her braided hair behind her again with a dark hand. “Knowing for certain, for a long time, strengthened my faith. Now…”

“It happens to everyone sooner or later. Go now.”

Watching Theodora hurry off, Mary Ellen leans back and closes her eyes for a moment. She sends a prayer up to Saint George, one of the first prayers she learned as a child, before pushing herself to her feet and towards the other offices.

 

* * *

 

Even knowing that she needs to not dally, Theodora still stops when she enters the chapel. Kneeling in prayer, she takes comfort in the ritual of it— the missed prayers from this morning, new ones to Mary and Joseph, any saint she can think of who might take an interest. Prayer and contemplation have been her companions for nearly a decade now, protection against the insanity that seems so near sometimes.

She doesn’t feel refreshed when she’s done — not exactly — but she does feel more stable, able to take things in stride again.

Mary Ellen might be wrong about what Jo is and wants, but she’s not wrong about the rest. Better to get Jo baptised and named, save whatever she has instead of a soul, and let her go on her way.

Filling the basin with water from the font takes no time at all. Inhaling sharply, she passes some of the other sisters — preparing for dinner and evening prayers — and returns to the infirmary.

Jo is sitting up, has wrapped her blanket around her and knotted it into something like a toga. There’s a tray on the desk, debris from a meal the one of the sisters brought her. Theodora can feel her watching as she busies herself around the room, refilling the supplies they hadn’t used.

Juliana’s body is gone, hopefully to a consecrated grave with a mass planned. She doesn’t think Keith would refuse that, but the priest is often strange.

“You don’t trust me,” Jo says in the silence.

Swallowing, Theodora feels everything come crashing down. “Six angels were killed last night. You appear out of nowhere. _Juliana is dead,_ and you’re somehow responsible. Demons and…” She can feel her knees start to tremble, but she holds firm. “I keep praying, but nothing changes.”

Jo’s face contorts into an expression Theodora can’t interpret before she looks down at her folded hands. “I understand.” There’s a long moment of silence, unbroken except for the rustling of packaging on the medical supplies. “Angels are dicks. I don’t know why you would mourn their loss. The demon you know as Juliana would have been found out eventually, Juliana abandoned as a useless meat suit, with who knows how many more deals made in the meantime.” Pushing herself to her feet for the first time, she rearranges her toga while standing over Theodora.

She shouldn’t feel this intimidated by a woman who stands a bare inch taller than her, particularly when she looks ridiculous. But something about Jo demands attention and respect.

Or would if the Heavenly Chorus wasn’t reaching a gut wrenching crescendo. She manages to stay upright, barely, as the sound pours over her, drowning out everything else.

This has happened a couple times, often enough that she knows it’ll recede in just a few moments if she can just hold on…

The song quiets, going back to its normal volume. Theodora slowly uncramps her fingers from the chair back. Sitting heavily, she ignores Jo in order to get her breath back.

“What was that?” Jo asks, unfolding her arms long enough to gesture towards Theodora. “That looked like— That looked like one of my boys’ visions.”

“Not a bad guess.” She’s saved from having to say anything more by Mary Ellen letting herself into the room.

Dropping a stack of clothes on the desk, Mary Ellen looks them both over with a critical eye. “Everything alright?”

Theodora manages a nod.

Jo looks at the clothes and the bowl of holy water and leans back. “What’s this?”

“Clothes. And your baptism, just in case there’s something wanting to ride around in that skin of yours. Now sit down.” Mary Ellen waits, her fingers gripping Theodora’s shoulder. There’s more sternness in her voice than Theodora thinks she’s ever heard. This isn’t the elderly woman of God. This is whatever she was before she took her vows.

Jo sits.

 

* * *

 

It all makes so much more sense now. The woman in front of her, the old one, is a hunter. Why she’s using this facade is beyond her, but at least there’s someone who knows what they’re doing.

She could recite the prayers that Mary Ellen says over her with her engine turned off, Theodora a step behind holding the bowl. They’re protecting her soul, or whatever she has. It’s strange, and the water feels slightly slick when poured over her hood, but it’s nothing she hasn’t experienced before.

Both women turn their backs to her when the ceremony is complete, allowing her some privacy to pull on the clothes. They fit decently well — long sleeved shirt and slacks, far more color than she’s really comfortable with — but they don’t seem to offer much in the way of protection. And only a single layer at that. They’re much warmer than the army blanket, but that’s their only upside.

Sighing, she shifts her weight and waits for the others to turn back around. Theodora smiles when she does, a subtle thing more in her eyes than her mouth.

Mary Ellen is less reserved, flashing a smile before she takes a seat at the desk. “You look more comfortable at any rate.” Closing her eyes, she sighs before reopening them and staring at Jo hard. “The other sisters haven’t started asking questions yet. They will. You’re going to tell them that you don’t remember anything.”

“We can’t just abandon her!” Theodora bursts out.

“The police are already going to be involved here. Or did you forget poor Juliana?” Mary Ellen shoots back. “Father Keith is already nervous— his training included monsters, not whatever this is. We’re not abandoning her, just moving her to the guest house in town, where we have resources.”

Jo inhales sharply. In town, she might be able to find Sam and Dean, or figure out what happened to them. “I want to. Go to town, I mean. Unless you can turn me back to my rightful form.” She pauses hopefully, but they don’t say anything. “I’ve raised two boys, I can masquerade as human for long enough.”

There’s an urgent knock at the door, one of the other sisters letting herself in. The way she carries herself is familiar, but Jo can’t place it.

“Mary Catherine, what are you—” Theodora trails off, tilting her head. “You’re… not Mary Catherine.”

_Angel_. Jo swings to the other side of the bed, out of arm’s reach. Backing into the corner, she grabs the countertop.

“I just need the girl. She can help me track the nephilim.” Mary Catherine looks exhausted, she must be using her grace near constantly.

There’s something sharp under her fingers, a screw tip or something. It’s not very much, but it’s better than nothing.

She runs her finger tip across the point, trying to work out the best way to rip open her skin, paint the sigil, get the hell out of here.

The angel comes around the bed, advancing towards Jo.

Theodora grabs her arm, forcing Mary Catherine to face her. “You’re an _angel_. You’re supposed to be a _protector_.”

“I _am_ protecting. I’m protecting us from going extinct. Without the nephilim, without God to replenish our numbers…” she trails off before shaking her head. “Our survival depends on him. And we can’t find him without her.” Turning back to Jo, she says, “I’m sorry. But we need you.”

Jo shakes her head, “I don’t know where Jack is. Or Sam and Dean.” She slams her hand down on the completed banishment sigil, snarling, “I do know I’m not going with you.” The angel blasts away in a flash of light, the wind of her passage tossing the neatly organized supplies every which way.

Sagging against the wall, Jo brings her hand up so she can see the damage she’s done. The scratch is long and bleeding freely across the top of her palm, but doesn’t seem to be much of an actual problem. She grabs a paper towel from the roll to wrap around it so she doesn’t drip blood everywhere.

Theodora slowly collapses to the floor, hiding behind her braids.

Cursing, Jo kneels beside her before hauling her up to sit on the bed. “They’re not worth that.”

She can see Mary Ellen raise an eyebrow, mouth opening to say something.

Jo cuts her off, “In nearly a decade, I’ve met two angels that were worth giving consent to. The rest of them…” She lets the sentence fade. She doesn’t want to ruin their faith, even if it’s misplaced.

“You’ve… met a lot of angels?” Theodora’s voice is thin behind her.

“In passing. Normally when they’re trying to kill Dean.” Jo sighs and takes Theodora’s hand between hers, chafing blood back into them. “I’m sure there are thousands of angels who want nothing more than to be left alone and to leave us alone. But the ones who come looking, well...”

Mary Ellen laboriously pushes herself to her feet. “Alright. Let’s get to town tonight. I’m not going to put more of the sisters at risk of demonic or angelic possession. We’ll stay at a motel, move to the guest house in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

Jody and Claire are making their way across the bridge, when Jim’s radio goes off, squawking with an urgent situation that he needs to deal with, cutting across the cicadas and rushing water.

Jody translates the code effortlessly, a dead body at an address, no ambulance needed. Glancing across at Claire, her eyes are wide in the faint glow from the flashlights, clearly understanding the radio as well.

“Don’t say anything about it,” Jody mutters, quiet enough that only Claire can hear her. “Not if Patience didn’t understand it already.”

“Why are you babysitting her anyway? I thought she had family, someplace to go.”

Jody sighs, eyes picking out Patience standing awkwardly near the sheriff. “You’re the one who called me a halfway house for wayward girls. Really going to begrudge someone else taking advantage of that?”

Claire groans, “Sam told you about that?”

“Of course he did.” Jody hops off the bridge before hurrying over to Patience and Jim. “This is definitely our sort of thing, Jim. If you need to take care of that call, go ahead.”

“If you’re sure. I don’t wanna leave you alone without backup.”

“The girls and I got it under control. When you get back the office though, can you put out an APB for a 1967 Chevy Impala, black?”

“You think it had something to do with this?”

“No. But it bothers me that its owners aren’t here.”

“Alright, Sheriff. I’ll be on my way then. I’ll let you know if we run into anything else weird.”

“Thanks.”

They silently watch him leave and head back to town before Claire turns to her, “Dean’s gonna be pissed you put an APB out for him. ”

“I think Sam and Dean haven’t been seen in forty-eight hours and Patience is having visions that they’re in danger.”

Patience swallows beside her, “I don’t… Maybe if we find something of theirs, I can try to direct a vision? But I don’t know. I’ve never tried that before.”

Jody looks at her for a long moment before nodding, “We can try that in the morning. I don’t have anything with me and it’s late. I don’t even begin to know where to start with this thing, so we’ll research the hell out of it.”

Claire digs in her pocket and pulls out two room keys. Holding them up to the light, she hands one to Jody. “I got us rooms at the Broadway Inn downtown.”

Following Claire’s car back to town, Patience shifts uncomfortably in the passenger seat. Jody waits patiently for her to figure out what she wants to say for a couple minutes before glancing over, “It’s not very far to the motel. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

She dithers for a bit longer before sighing, “What am I doing here, Jody? I don’t know anything about any of this.” She pauses before looking away. “I should just go back home.”

“You’re eighteen, you can do that if you want. But home will never be the same, and you know that, I think.”

Patience grunts beside her, staring at the passing signs outside the car.

Silently sighing, Jody focuses on the road, following Claire’s beater.

Even in the dark, the paint job on the motel is garishly pink, not quite glowing in the street lights, but close. Parking next to Claire on the northern end of the lot, Jody stares at the beat up door in her headlights before climbing out of her SUV and glaring across the hood. This is…

“What the hell have those boys been teaching you?” She gestures to the building in front of them. “This has got to be low even by their standards!”

Claire crosses her arms and glares back before slamming her car door shut. “You said find a place to stay. I found a place to stay. There’s a pool over there, and a bar with New York style pizza for ten bucks. This works.”

Horrified, Jody turns around to look at the bar at the other end of the parking lot. “Would you like some botulism with that pizza?”

“Shut up, Jody.” Claire adjusts her bag and unlocks the door to her room. “You’re next door. If you don’t like it, you can find someplace else.”

Jody scrubs a hand down her face before grabbing her bag and the key from the cupholder. “Okay. Okay.”

The room isn’t nearly as bad as she thought it was going to be. Brick walls, pale green bedspreads over the two beds, a table and two chairs in front of the window. The art on the walls is distinctly eighties motel art, but the entire thing looks clean if worn. She’s seen worse.

Patience slowly follows her inside, the same horrified look on her face as on Jody’s. “I always wondered what these things looked like on the inside, but this is…”

“Yeah,” She says flatly. “Welcome to hunting.” Setting her bag down, Jody pulls out her phone to text Donna, “I need to check in with some folks. Can you see if Claire wants to come with for Chinese or something?”

Patience nods, backing slowly out of the room.

Jody sighs again, looking at her phone when it rings. Answering it, she wishes she’d managed to have that second glass of wine, “Hey Donna, what’s shakin’?”

 

* * *

 

Jo pushes the button on the coffee maker again, willing it to make coffee to no avail. She’s been human for only about a day and a half and she already realizes why Dean is so grumpy in the mornings. They _suck_. It feels like she’s dragging around at least one flat tire.

Staring balefully at the coffee maker while Theodora and Mary Ellen sleep behind her, she gives up and silently lets herself out of the room. It’s still dark outside, the lights washing out any hint that dawn is coming.

It’s a full house this morning, a car in front of almost every door and a few more parked in the middle. It’s easier to relax out here, where she belongs. Sitting on the curb, she watches a door on the northern arm of the motel open, a young girl stepping outside.

She’s not dressed like the dozens of sex workers she’s seen slip out over the decades, and she’s too young to be here by herself. Jo watches her, half hidden behind a small sedan, as she leans against an SUV (which looks familiar. She’s seen that truck before) and fiddles with her phone.

The glow of her phone lights her face far more effectively than the porchlights on the outside of the building. Jo’s met her before too.

Seeing the girl (Patience?) puts the SUV she’s leaning against in context— Jody’s work truck.

Pushing herself to her feet, she crosses the parking lot carefully, trying to be obvious. She doesn’t want to scare her, just wants to… know if they’ve seen Sam and Dean, know where Jack is so _he_ can put her back?

Patience starts when she glances up to see Jo standing in front of her, rattling off “I don’t have any money, I’m sorry.”

Jo stares at her. “I don’t… Patience, right? The psychic from Georgia?”

She leans back warily, stuffs her phone in her back pocket. “How do you know my name?”

Jo opens her mouth but nothing comes out. She stands there, gawking, for long enough that Patience gets fed up with waiting and starts easing away, “Right. Nice talking to you.”

“Dean’s Impala. Something happened. I…” Jo trails off. After decades of hunting, she knows she started wrong.

“What about Dean’s car?” Patience’s back is stiff, standing up straight. “Jody said it was missing.”

“Is Jody here? You didn’t just steal her car, right?”

Patience whirls around, glaring, “Why would I do that?”

Raising her hands, Jo takes a step back. “Whoa. That’s not what I was saying at all. You don’t seem the type.” Taking another step back, she half-sits on the bumper of the late eighties Subaru next to Jody’s SUV. “Sometimes though, type doesn’t matter.”

Patience moves to stand in front of her, sticking out her hand. “Let me see your hand.”

Slowly, Jo extends her hand until Patience grabs hold and clutches it like a lifeline. She stands still for a moment, her eyes falling closed as she concentrates. Her mouth opens like she’s going to say something when she goes abruptly rigid, eyes flickering rapidly beneath her eyelids.

It doesn’t last very long, ten, fifteen seconds at the most. Patience’s knees buckle when she comes back to herself, slumping into Jo.

Jo automatically wraps her arms around her, cursing when she’s pushed off balance. She keeps Patience from hitting her head, but they both land on the ground with a grunt.

Which is, of course, when Claire comes barrelling out of her room, “Get off her, you creep!” She doesn’t stop, slamming her boot into Jo’s shin before twisting away so she doesn’t trip.

It’s not a very effective attack, but hurts and doesn’t touch Patience. She could have picked a much worse one.

Rolling out from under Patience, Jo struggles to her feet, trying to back away from them both.

Patience rescues her, groaning and grabbing Claire’s pant leg before she can go after Jo. “Claire, wait. Don’t.”

Claire checks herself, kneeling down to help Patience sit up. “Are you alright? Do I need to get Jody?”

“Need to get me for what?” Jody asks sternly, sheriff voice on full display.

Jo closes her eyes and takes another several steps away from Claire and Patience. “Jody, I need you to trust me.”

“Trust you? I don’t even _know_ you. Why should I trust you when you’re attacking teenage girls in the parking lot?”

“I’m not _attacking_ anyone,” Jo snarls. “Fucking hell! Never mind. I’ll figure it out on my own.” Turning, she starts trudging back to the room she was in last night. Wetness wells up in her eyes, but she ignores it.

She’d been so hopeful when she saw them. But apparently she shouldn’t have been. Idly, she rubs at her chest before resuming her spot on the curb, wonders if this is how Dean felt every time Sam turned away.

 

* * *

 

Mary Ellen has been waking with the sun for decades now, long enough that she’s awake for Lauds even without her alarm clock. Theodora wakes soon after her, rolls off the bed and into the tiny shower without a word.

By the time she’s out, Mary Ellen has had the light snack that will get her through until breakfast and prepared for the day as best she can. There’s not much she can do-- the guest house won’t be awake for several hours yet and even longer until Kathy will have time to meet with them.

She does stick her head outside long enough to confirm that Jo is there — huddled on the curb — before taking her turn for her morning ablutions.

Jo is still outside, hasn’t moved when they’ve completed their prayers and readings. She’s stock still, watching something across the parking lot.

She seems oddly more subdued today than yesterday, but Mary Ellen doesn’t think anything of it. Suddenly becoming human has to be at least a little confusing, even if she’s not been exactly forthcoming on what she was before.

Looking a little closer on their way to Mary Ellen’s favorite indulgence, Jo looks like she’s been rolling around on the ground, slightly scuffled in a way that doesn’t make sense, even if she didn’t sleep last night.

She waits patiently for her to bring it up, for Jo to say anything beside a quiet ‘good morning’ but she says nothing.

Finally, as they linger over doughnuts, she just asks, “What happened?”

Shaking her head, Jo sips her coffee. “I thought… It doesn’t matter. The chance is gone.” Listlessly, she pushes her last couple of bites towards the center of the table and stands, “I’ll be outside. It’s too close in here for me.” Pushing through the growing line, she walks around the corner of the building.

Theodora looks up, confusion written across her face, “I don’t… She was fine last night? What could have upset her like that?”

Mary Ellen shakes her head, wrapping her hands around the paper cup of coffee. “I don’t know. She didn’t sleep well, I know that. Maybe that’s all it is.”

She’s distracted by the young woman who opens the door next, jerking it when it sticks slightly, and wearing a women’s suit. She looks far too young to be wearing a suit this early, but she has the air of someone who wears it all the time.

Theodora is watching her too, looking puzzled. “I know her, but I don’t.”

Mary Ellen nods, watching how the unbuttoned jacket and pants fall with each movement. It all clicks at once, a flash of ankle when her pants rise up a bit, showing off ankle boots and the tip of a calf sheath. _Hunter_.

“Go find Jo,” she says quietly. “I don’t want her in danger.”

“Mary Ellen?” Theodora questions.

“She’s a hunter. Some of them ask questions first, some don’t. I don’t want to risk Jo until I know which type she is.”

The young woman is looking around for a place to sit now in the crowded shop, a single doughnut balanced on top of a box, waiting for her coffee. Theodora nods, clearing their trash and following Jo out. Mary Ellen waves to the young woman, gesturing at the empty chair across from her.

Her eyes flick up and down, assessing Mary Ellen with a glance before dismissing her as harmless. She’s not wrong, but it’s still insulting.

All the same, Mary Ellen plays nice, pulling her coffee out of the way and pushing the chair out slightly with her cane. “Come sit. They’re ages behind on coffee this morning.”

“Thanks.” Her eyes continue to rove around the shop, constantly assessing everyone around her.

Mary Ellen manages to keep from rolling her eyes, but it’s a near thing. “The only threat in here is you and Ms. Rocha before her morning coffee.”

“How did you—”

“You need to scale back from full alert and get the hem of your suit pants adjusted if you’re going to be wearing a knife on your calf.” Mary Ellen sighs, takes a sip of her coffee. “You’re uncomfortable in your suit, but wear it enough to bother having the jacket professionally tailored.”

“Is anyone ever comfortable in these damn things?” The young woman stares at her, eyes flicking to the small golden cross at her neck, the long sleeved button down and lapel pin. “I’m sorry, Sister. I didn’t mean to…”

“I was a hunter before I was a nun. I know what to look for.” Mary Ellen leans back, drinks some more coffee, “The question is, why are you here. There’s been nothing to bring you here.”

The blonde swallows and glances over her shoulder, trying to see when her coffee will be ready. “Look,” she hisses, “if you think you can keep up with someone that can open a rift in space and time, then by all means, let’s discuss the hunt. I’m guessing you can’t though.”

Mary Ellen raises an eyebrow at her outburst, “A rift in space and time?” She pauses for a moment, thinking about a storm brought about the death of several angels, a woman showing up naked on convent grounds. “The storm Sunday night?”

“We think so,” she shrugs, jumping up to grab a carrier with three cups from the counter. “Maybe some things much worse too. We’re not sure what sort of side effects to expect.”

Mary Ellen blinks for a long moment before draining her coffee and gesturing towards the door. “I think I know where one of your side effects is.”

“What?”

Mary Ellen pushes herself to her feet, wincing when her knee twinges. She was on it too much yesterday, and starting this morning with a walk uphill did her no favors.

The young woman watches her, but doesn’t offer to help, her hands full. Mary Ellen leads the way through the crowd and around the corner.

Theodora and Jo are huddled on the curb to the side of the building, talking too quietly for her to hear. They glance up when she comes around the corner.

Jo’s face morphs from vaguely inquisitive to fear as soon as she sees the young woman following Mary Ellen. She turns away, staring at the ground and ignoring them.

“Jo?” Theodora asks, touching her shoulder.

Jo shakes her head, retreating further into herself. “Claire doesn’t want anything to do with me. It doesn’t matter, I can stay with the guest house.”

“You can’t expect me to believe her,” Claire snaps. “She was stalking Patience this morning! Attacked her!”

Mary Ellen closes her eyes, praying for patience. “You’ll excuse me if I want more than the word of an over-excitable new hunter. Jo?”

“I knew them. Before. Both of them. I met Claire here nearly a decade ago and Patience three weeks ago and Jody between.” Jo looks back down, wrapping a hand around her opposite wrist and squeezing. “But I’m human now, and useless, so it’s just as well.” There’s a long pause before she glances back up, “Can you at least tell me if Sam and Dean are okay?”

“Jesus fuck — sorry, Sisters — _you’re the Impala_.”

 

* * *

 

Theodora feels Jo flinch beside her, even though she doesn’t move. She wraps an arm around her shoulders, dragging Jo into her side. “She’s the what?”

Claire looks utterly shell shocked, shoving the doughnut box and coffees onto the roof of the car next to her. “Patience couldn’t tell us, didn’t understand what she saw. Shit.” She runs a hand through her hair to get it out of her face. “You’re staying at the Broadway, down the street?”

Theodora nods hesitantly, still unsure how she knows this young woman. It’s bothering her, tiny flashes of familiarity staring at her from a stranger’s face.

“Great. Let’s discuss this someplace more private, away from the civilians.” She looks at them all and then at the beat up car next to her. “I uh, know it’s not far, but I can offer you a ride?”

Theodora shakes her head, “Jo and I are okay with walking. Sister Mary Ellen?”

Her hand tightens on her cane, knuckles paling before relaxing and nodding. “I think that would be best.”

Claire grins at them before unlocking the doors and cleaning out the passenger seat. A flurry of paper bags, candy wrappers, and plastic clamshells get tossed into the backseat before she brushes the crumbs and other debris to the floor. “Your chariot awaits.”

Mary Ellen smiles back, carefully climbing into the car and holding the breakfast that gets passed to her.

Theodora watches as Claire whips the car out of the parking lot, making a terrifying left turn onto a major street. She winces before turning back to Jo. “We knew you weren’t human. Never even occurred to me that you might not even be sentient.” She winces and tries to make up for it, “I mean, not that _you’re_ not sentient but cars generally aren’t…”

Jo shrugs, “I didn’t know how to explain. And you didn’t seem to care, so…”

“The beauty of being human is the gift of free will. If you don’t feel safe with them, you’re welcome to stay here in town. Father Keith will throw a fit if you stay at the convent, but the guest house is open.” Reaching over, she pulls Jo’s pale hand between her own darker ones. “I’m not a theological scholar, but you’re something special.”

Jo snorts, squeezing her hand. “That’s what Dean always said.”

“Dean is… your owner?” She winces, there has to be a better way to phrase that.

“All his life, and before.” When Theodora looks at her, Jo shrugs. “Angels and time travel. He actually convinced his own father I was the car he wanted. It’s surreal.”

Theodora boggles at the idea for a moment before pushing it to the side and standing. “I… have no idea what to do with that. Let’s head back, see what they have to say for themselves.”

Jo nods, standing.

It’s not a long walk, only a few minutes to cross the parking lot and a side street and around the end of the motel. Mary Ellen is sitting in one of the broken down lawn chairs at the end of the building, waving them over.

“Claire’s on the level, although her training is far more haphazard than I’d be comfortable working with. The others, apparently, are still getting dressed. Claire said something about changing since she didn’t have to interview today.”

Theodora looks at the sun, peeking over the building, before glancing at her watch. It’s only a bit past seven, so maybe they’re just slow, not sloths. She and Jo drag a couple more chairs over and sit quietly in a circle, watching as lights flick on and off in the motel rooms around them, their inhabitants slowly trickling out to their cars and leaving.

“Jo, how do I know Claire?” Theodora asks quietly. “Her face isn’t familiar at all, but I _know_ her.”

Jo looks over speculatively, thinking. “You can hear angels?” She pauses for a long moment. “Most of it isn’t mine to tell, but Claire was a vessel for a hot minute years ago. I missed it, but Dean talked about it, later.”

The silence is broken by the door behind them opening and a middle aged woman stepping around to face them. She’s dressed far more sensibly than Claire had been — jeans, a tee shirt and a work shirt over top — and looks like she’s tired of everything already.

Sticking her hand out, she shakes Mary Ellen and then Theodora’s hands. “Sheriff Jody Mills. You ladies are…” She trails off looking for something.

“Sisters Theodora and Mary Ellen, and Jo from St. Clare’s outside of town.” Theodora volunteers when it doesn’t look like anyone else is going to say anything.

Jody scrubs a hand down her face, relaxing her shoulders. “Can we skip the dancing around each other, please? I’ve got a panicking kid, a case that I don’t even know how to begin to solve, and two dear friends that were last seen getting gas a couple miles up the road and are now missing.” Her phone buzzes and she checks the screen. “And now apparently there’s a kid in the psych ward screaming about dinosaurs that the local sheriff wants me to meet with.”

“Jody, I’m sorry about this morning,” Jo says quietly. “I really wasn’t trying to hurt Patience. I just…”

“You caught her when she fell. Yeah, she told me. I’m sorry, too.” Clapping her hands, she leans against the SUV. “Jo, you can come back with us if you want, but, I gotta be honest, I have no idea how we’re gonna turn you back to rights.”

 

* * *

 

Jo sucks in a breath at Jody’s words, bends her head, honey brown hair cascading around her face, blocking her peripheral vision. It’s almost enough to block out Jody’s earnest face, but not quite.

She sucks in a breath, wishing she could turn back to three days ago, before all this happened. Maybe she could have made a different turn, gotten the boys less trapped, given them options.

Instead, she’s trapped, they’re missing, Jack’s gone missing and… “Kaia’s in the psych ward? Jody, you gotta get her out. She can’t control her abilities, she’ll get committed if they—”

“Hold up.” Jody holds up a hand. “You know her?”

Patience and Claire stumble out of the rooms at the same time, both clutching coffee cups in one hand and a doughnut in the other. Claire looks much more comfortable in jeans and a hoodie. They look at each other, then sit on the hood of Claire’s Subaru.

Jo keeps herself from wincing, barely, at the visible bend in the hood under their combined weight.

“Jo.” A hand snaps in front of her face, drawing her attention back to Jody. “You know the psych girl?”

“I think so? Her name’s Kaia, she’s a dreamwalker, from up near Bismarck.” Jo shivers, despite how warm it is. “She was with the boys, and Jack, on the boat. If we’re going to find them, she’s probably the best bet.”

The others nod, filing things away.

“That still doesn’t solve the question of you,” Theodora says. “What do you want?”

Jo closes her eyes and breathes deeply. “If… we don’t know any witches strong enough to reverse this, or where Jack is, and Cas is off looking for Jack anyway, I guess… I guess I’m stuck like this?”

Claire looks at her strangely, but doesn’t say anything, just pulls her phone out and starts looking at something.

“I think you are. At least for right now,” Patience says quietly. “We can try to go looking for a witch, but that’s no guarantee.”

Jo smiles at her wryly, pushing the heartache aside. “I guess I should stay here then. This’ll be where Dean comes back through anyway, and maybe he and Sam can come up with a plan.”

“If you change your mind, give me a call. We’ll bring you home as quickly as we can,” Jody offers, squeezing Jo’s shoulder for a moment before dropping it. “And we’ll keep you up to date with the search as much as we can. We’ll be in and out a lot anyway, keeping an eye on that rip.”

Jo nods, tries not to feel like she’s choosing exile over family. But there’s no room for her in their lives, that’s obvious. Not with Patience newly accepting the life and Claire off hunting all the time. Better that she stay out of the way.

She still knows all the Latin and Enochian that she learned over decades. She’s not defenseless.

Mary Ellen stands then, comes up behind her and rests her hands on her shoulders. “We’ll take care of you. The guest house is mostly secular. You can study there.”

Jo nods, accepting it. The others start moving around, trading phone numbers, emergency contact information, the same post-hunt information exchange she’s been present for thousands of times.

But this time, she’s being left behind. Of her own free will, free to grow into whoever she wants to be.

 

* * *

 

_~!~!~!~!~ Several Months Later ~!~!~!~!~_

Dean barely fits into the decrepit Camry that Alex agreed to loan him so he can get his car back. All four of them, and Donna when he called her, have been uncharacteristically tightlipped about the whereabouts of the Impala other than reassuring him that she’s not spent the past three months rotting in an impound lot or, worse, being some meth-head’s joy ride and ending up in the Missouri river.

The address is nothing special — a refurbished Victorian, painted somber colors — other than the sign in the front yard for “St. Clare’s Guest House.” He still doesn’t see the Impala anywhere, but church folk won’t be riding around in her.

Staring at the house from the curb, Dean wonders why Jody left her here to begin with. Sioux Falls is only about ninety minutes away, more than close enough for a tow or for Claire to hotwire and drive her. Even if Jody thought this was the only tear in reality, it would make more sense for her to have dragged the Impala back to her house, or Bobby’s.

If _only_ there was just one rip.

Instead, he and Sam have been trying to work out of any number of increasingly terrible cars — missing most of their gear, research, hell, most of their clothes — while crisscrossing the country, shutting down everything that leaked through.

Opening the front door, the place is set up more like a B&B than a house. A desk has taken over most of the hallway, a stern looking woman reigning behind it in a dark green sweater set. “Can I help you?”

He wasn’t expecting a gatekeeper, although he possibly should have, given that this is connected to the convent on the west side of town. He fumbles out, “Uh, I’m supposed to talk to Jo? She has my car.”

“ _Sister_ Jo does not drive. She is currently out for the day. Can I take a message?”

“I can wait in her room, or the sitting room maybe? If you can call her and let her know—”

The woman, Kathy according to the desk plate, frowns at him, “You’ll do no such thing. And before you ask, no, I’m not going to give you her phone number. She wouldn’t be the first to fight her family about joining the Church.”

Sighing, Dean gives in, snatching a sheet of paper and a pen so he can scribble a note before passing it back to Kathy. “Can you… make sure she gets that? I’ll be in town for a couple days, until she calls me.”

She nods, folding the note in half and sticking it in a mail organizer behind her. “I’ll make sure she gets it.”

“Thanks.” Dean knocks on the desk and leaves, groaning when he catches sight of the car he arrived in. It’s not that the Camry is a bad car. It’s just tiny, and doesn’t like starting, and has some sort of stain in the back windows and seat that he can’t identify. He misses his baby.

He’s got nothing to do until Jo calls him back, so he might as well go for a walk. It’s too early to check into the motel — they’re both terrifying, he’d rather skip them altogether if possible — so he finds the city park along the river and parks the Camry there. He’s never really been much for going on random walks, but since they got back, since Cas went missing _again_ , since everything, he’s found himself doing it more. It helps him think, since most of the time he can’t just go for a drive.

There’s not a whole lot else for him to do actually, besides figure out how he’s going to get Alex’s car back to her. Really, he should just leave it here and get her something better.

He heads north, uphill. There’s theoretically a bakery up that way and after everything else, he deserves some pie.

Caught up in his own head, Dean barely hears the shouts ahead of him. The clatter of wood hitting concrete gets his attention though, as does the woman careening towards him on rollerblades, hands outstretched, trailing blue cake behind her.

She shouts an apology over her shoulder, trying to twist around to face the bakery. He watches her lose her balance in slow motion, her feet sliding out from under her on the hill until one skate kicks clear of the pavement altogether.

Darting forward, Dean wraps his arms around her waist from the side, enough to stay clear of the skates — he doesn’t need any more bruises — and twist them both to the side, making sure she stays, mostly, upright before dragging her into the grass.

“Sorry, guys! They got out from under me,” She calls up the street before twisting around. “I think I’m stable enough to stand on my own now, thanks.” She carefully pushes his hands away, keeping her weight balanced over the skates.

“Sister Jo, you okay?” One of the guys starts down the street, ignoring the trashed cake behind him.

Dean abruptly steps away. Sister Jo-the-almost-nun and he’d put his hands all over her in plain view of two guys who clearly know her. He’s pretty certain that he could take them in a fight, but that’s probably not the best way to get his car back.

Jo pats his arm, still facing the bakery guys. “I’m good.” She grimaces when she sees the mess on the concrete. “Crap. I’m so sorry, Bret. That wasn’t for anyone, was it?” She tries to penguin walk up the hill in her skates, pulling a wallet out and pressing a couple twenties into Bret’s hand. Dean ends up following her, keeping her upright.

Dean tunes the rest of the conversation out, looking at her profile, trying to figure out why his car got left with her of all people. He’s never seen her in his life, he’s pretty sure, but if he doesn’t know her, why would she volunteer? Maybe she’s someone he saved over the years or she just drew the short straw at the convent. Bobby’d mentioned that some convents and monasteries housed former hunters.

Jo smiles up at him vaguely when she turns, before excitement lights up her face, “Dean!” She tries to bounce a bit, but her skates keep her firmly on the ground.

“Uh… hi? You’re Jo?” Great. She does know him personally, and now he’s going to look like an ass—

Reaching up, she pushes at the space between his eyebrows, forcibly smoothing out the wrinkles there.

He jerks back, “Whoa, hey.”

Her face falls for a moment, before clearing. “You don’t have to look so worried. I’m not some conquest that you forgot or anything.”

That clears up some of it at least. “That’s great and all, but I’d still like to know who you are.”

“Where’s Sam? And Cas?”

“Sam’s working on some stuff. Cas is—” He trails off when he feels fingers in his pocket, pushing his wallet back into place. He grabs her upper arm, trying to make it look like he’s just holding her upright, hissing “Now, really, _who the fuck are you and why the fuck do you have my car?_ ”

She glances at his hand on her arm, arching an eyebrow, “Let go of me, Dean. I’m not going to discuss this in front of Bret and Chad. But I will start yelling my head off if you don’t stop.”

It’s not even a conscious thought, his hand drops away with the same alacrity as when Mom ordered him to do something. It should be disturbing, but the longer they’re here, the more familiar she seems.

“Thank you.” She shifts for a moment, “Where’s your car?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m here.”

“Not me, Dean,” she rolls her eyes. “Whatever piece of junk you drove here in.”

“Not… you?” He takes a step back, looks her up and down.

Sighing heavily, she pulls the collar of her shirt down and to the side. His and Sam’s initials are scarred over her collarbone, thin lines a couple shades lighter than her skin. “You did this when you were about seven. Helped Sam with it. Made sure that every time you rebuilt me, this was included,” she says flatly before patting her shirt back into place. “Do I need to show you the devil’s trap too?”

He gapes at her for a few seconds, trying to make sense of it.

“You’re the Impala? How?” He doesn’t particularly object, but he always figured that if she became human, she’d be… built like Billie, actually. Not six inches shorter than him with hair halfway down her back. She does look like she can kick his ass though, which does jibe with what he always imagined.

“Jack,” she says simply. “When you took off through the glowy space vagina.”

“Shit. That was three months ago.” He stares at her for a moment before nodding, “Right. Car. It’s by the river, in the park. Can’t check into the motel yet.”

Jo shudders beside him, “Yeah. Don’t. The bed gave me a rash.”

He can’t help it, he starts laughing.

She rolls her eyes but gives him time before shifting her weight. “I’d been human for twenty-four hours, had already exorcised a demon and an angel, and my first time sleeping gave me a rash. Can we go now?”

Dean nods, still chuckling, and offered her his arm, “Yeah. You can tell me all about it on the drive back to Jody’s. I’ll call Sam, have him contact Rowena, see if we can get you back to normal.”

“ _Please_. Being human is exhausting.”


End file.
